


Keloid

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Courier is Lone Wanderer, F/M, Inspired by Music, Romance, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4479485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're both marred by past lives, but together, they can make something beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keloid

**Author's Note:**

> [Sippy Cup by Melanie Martinez](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CCtaaJ3C80o); don't ask me why.

He runs his fingers on the welt cutting her upper arm. “Tell me about them.”

“That one? Mirelurk.”

He touches the straight line over her sternum, between the breasts.“This?”

The Courier sighs a breath, and seems to contemplate for a moment, settling on, “Don’t ask.”

He doesn’t. Swank’s hand settles on her hip, and his thumb traces a fading white line. “This one?”

Confusion registers on her face until she glances at it. “Oh. Bully from the Vault. I started taking karate, he started pulling a switchblade, go figure. Broke his nose for that one, though.”

Across her midline, curling around her side is a fresh one, thick, still scabbed in places. “Fiend with a ripper, about two weeks ago.” she volunteers.

He drags his fingertips up her ribcage, and finds a thin line running between the ridges. “Laser rifle, Enclave. I was nineteen.”

Swank chuckles lightly, all in the breath. “Have you always been this indestructible?”

Erin rolls pale blue eyes and kicks him in the side with her left leg- what’s left of it. Burn scars start at the knee, and stop just after, where her leg stops. “Apparently, not.”

He grazes his palm over it, and settles back on her thigh. “You never told me how that happened.”

She shrugs. “I was still pretty fresh out of the Vault, stepped on a landmine. You know, I’ve had lethal radiation poisoning that put me in a coma for two weeks, but I walked in there knowing I was gonna die. The landmine...” She shakes her head, and makes her arm a neckrest. “I thought I was gonna die in the ass end of nowhere.”

Swank skates his hands over the wide jut of her hips, the muted corrugation of her ribs under the vault pudge. “We’ve all been there.”

“Oh yeah. Boot Rider, right?” she muses, peeling her lips with her teeth. Erin puts her good foot (only foot, actually) on his chest, and pushes him back. Swank goes limp as she climbs on top of him, a small thing with more power packed in those bones than he’s seen in most bodyguards. “Give me the Swank Scar Tour.”

“You want a quickie, or the extended edition?”

“Swank, you are incapable of quickies.”

“There are worse things to be.” he chuckles and plants one hand on her hip- such a pronounced curve, perfect handhold. Oh, but she’s asking about him now, isn’t she? Swank turns his arm over, and she grips his bicep, still dark from all the years of sun. He never leaves the Tops anymore. Her thumb grazes over the slash there, clean. Erin knows scars, knows it as a bullet graze. With enough time, she could probably tell the caliber, too. “Skirmish with one of the tribes. Don’t even remember which one, come to think.”

She leans over, kisses it softly, and runs her tongue along the length. Swank sucks in a breath and tries not to buck where he’s pressed soft (not for long) against her thigh. Erin’s hands scoop over his chest, down the hips, and one squeezes him still-flaccid while the other finds the sharp cuts on his torso. She singles out one clipping his pectoral. “This one?”

“Sparring.” Swank grunts contentedly. “That one might have been Ben.”

Six makes a small noise, and licks it, flicking her tongue at his nipple once. Her hand pushes his half-mast against his stomach and she scoots up, sliding her labia along the length. She’s still wet. Erin presses one hand against his chest, and the other holds his thigh, right on the splotched keloid. “This one?”

Swank laughs. “You’re insatiable.”

“You’re not complaining.” She grins back, circling her clit around the head as she taps his thigh. “Come on.”

“Fire gecko, you crazy broad!”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

The Chairman catches her shoulder and pulls her down, catching her lips between his. When he pulls away, he says, “Somethin’ else is.”

She has this look in her eyes, reminds him of old life. Predators. She gets sharp when she’s horny.

Jokingly, he says, “Get up.” She does, moves off and leans back on her hands while Swank stretches his neck from lying on the foot end of the bed. “Turn around.”

Erin grins as she presses her cheek to the mattress, ass in the air. “You know I love my doggystyle.”

“Don’t I.” he replies, rubbing his head along the slick outer labia as his other hand memorizes her back- the speckled veneer of a frag grenade overlaying all the other marks. He tangles his knuckles in the hair close to her neck as he pushes into her, and she groans in that amused way. She loves that. Swank moves slow, languid strokes, and kisses her back between the shoulderblades, the top of a surgical scar tracing her spine. “What about this one?”

She barks a laugh, back arched from his pull on her hair. “Now?”

He kisses it at intervals down. “Now.”

“Let’s call it a... concussion and... some crazy scientists. Makes my head spin.”

The Chairman licks back up, and she giggles. Pushing slowly into her, his thumb brushes a bit of rough tissue on the base of her hairline. His hand eases up, while his hips drive deep, and sit while he finds the ends of that scar. Erin wiggles her ass, grinds against him, and since he’s not thrusting, she does. That scar just spreads ear to ear. “How the hell did you get this?”

The Courier clenches up around him, and glares over her shoulder before feeling for the scar. “Fuck. I thought that was just a crazy drug trip.”

“Now this one I gotta hear.”

“Yeah, but not now.”

“And why not?” he jokes, teasing her with shallow movements.

Erin groans exaggeratedly, slamming against him. Swank puts the hand back to her hip, where it fits, and holds her as still as he can, leaning over her. His scarred chest pressing to her scarred back. “Sooner you tell me, sooner we can get on with this.”

She groans, but he can tell she’s smiling from the inflection. “Tribals wanted me to get their sacred fruit. Neglected to mention the sacred pollen was a hallucinogenic. Woke up with my head shaved, and a little less of my brain.”

“Got a partial backwoods lobotomy and all you got was a stupid scar?”

“You’re tellin’ me... Now, Swank?”

“Yeah, dolly?”

“Fuck me.”

He kisses the back of her neck, and gets a little upright. “Whatever you say, pussycat.”

Swank isn’t well-endowed, or rough, but he’s passionate, and she thinks that’s even better. Fucks her like he loves her. Might, but knows better than to say. He’s oversensitive from earlier, and doesn’t last long. It’s not as satisfying as the first, but it’s an orgasm, and it’s Erin, so of course it ain’t bad. When he groans his last, she crooks her hips and slips him out before rolling one way as he goes the other. Swank nearly falls off the bed, but one hand launches for the headboard, and the Courier grabs the other, yanking him back. When he’s back on solid mattress, they both crack up.

Swank’s still grinning as Erin settles into the afterglow. He reaches out, and strokes her hair out of her face, exposing the starburst keloid on her temple. His face falls.

“What?” she asks, glancing up.

Swank just pets her hair back, and presses a kiss to her forehead.

He doesn’t ask. They both know.


End file.
